


Hold Nothing Back

by beltainefaerie



Series: It's All Fine [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha!John, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bottom John, Crime Scenes, Developing Relationship, Genderqueer Character, M/M, Masturbation, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 18:00:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1437517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beltainefaerie/pseuds/beltainefaerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between pushing the bounds of their new relationship, being kidnapped by Mycroft for tea, and a complicated case, at least John is unlikely to be bored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Shellysbees for being my delightful beta.
> 
> This is the second in the It's All Fine Series. If you haven't read It's All Fine, this story will be more meaningful if you do.
> 
> Fluff, smut and a good double homicide. What more could you want?

They sat on the couch in the afternoon, watching Midsomer Murders. Sherlock’s running commentary should have been annoying, but it really had become part of the show. John had caught a few episodes of Mystery Science 3000 on a trip to the states once. He smiled at the thought. Having Sherlock was like his own personal MST3K with one snarky detective rather than two robots. Remarkably similar actually. There was probably a market for that. John couldn’t help but giggle.

Sherlock looked at him archly.

“You’re funny.”

“You don’t usually think so.”

“Some things are still sacred, but this isn’t Dr. Who.” John quipped. 

Sherlock attempted not to roll his eyes and failed, but at least didn’t say anything further on that front.

They settled back into companionable silence for a while until the next moment that Sherlock deduced something impossible. It was nice. 

It had been a week and it was surprising how little things changed, as though they had been slowly sliding into a relationship without acknowledging it. Still, in moments alone, John couldn’t help wondering when they were going to run into problems. Things would come up sooner or later and he wanted to be prepared.

So far, they had only been together once, during Sherlock’s accidental heat. They seemed to be slowly letting one another get used to the idea of a sexual relationship. There were kisses, more casual touching than John would have thought, as though Sherlock were touch-starved and, however self imposed that had been, he was clearly glad to be making up for it. John certainly wasn’t complaining.

So now, Sherlock tended to edge closer to him than before. Or lay his head in John’s lap, as he started to do now. Up to a few days ago, that was always a sign that Sherlock was getting ill and hadn’t admitted it yet. But he didn’t feel warm as John brushed the curls back from his forehead. Just liking the way it felt to curl up together. Who would have taken Sherlock as a cuddler? John sighed contentedly, carding his fingers through Sherlock’s hair. John was sure he wouldn’t stay in the position for long. Best enjoy it while it lasted.  
\---

There hadn’t actually been all that much time for such moments alone. Towards the end of the week, a snog on the couch that felt like it could have turned into more, was interrupted. Sherlock had just been kissing his neck, and had begun, “John, I want-” when his phone beeped. Of course he checked, leaping from the couch and shouting, “a case!”

So John never did get to hear what he wanted. Of course on the case, it was all business, but he hadn’t expected anything less with Sherlock. Still, by the time they got home, after a thirteen hour day, a foot chase that spanned what felt like half the city, and a thankfully closed murder-suicide, John was far too exhausted to contemplate anything but sleep. 

The next day, he had an early start at the surgery and on his way home a black car pulled up beside him. “Seriously? I have a phone, you know.” John said to Anthea, (April? Andrea?) or whatever she was calling herself this week.

“We know,” she said, never looking up from her phone where she was busily texting. Probably held the fate of several countries in those texts. Still wasn’t comforting to be so easily disregarded.

After a moment’s hesitation, John got in. He had learned by now that asking where they were headed would yield no favorable results, so he seethed in silence.

They arrived at an actual house this time. Mycroft had tea waiting in the sitting room. 

“What was so important it required kidnapping again, hmmm?”

Mycroft looked John over, clearly unimpressed.

“My brother’s welfare has often called for... specialized tactics.”

“Your brother’s welfare?

“Yes. I hope you understand that I am very concerned over recent developments.”

“If this is just some elaborate version of ‘hurt my brother and I will have you killed,’ I swear, Mycroft, I’ll”

“You’ll what, John? What could you possibly do that I couldn’t counter?” They glared at one another for a moment before John spoke again.

“I suppose you could find out. You are used to intimidating people. I get it. But honestly, a bit less cloak and dagger and a bit more talking will likely get you further with me. What do you want, Mycroft?”

“Sit. Have tea.”

“I am sure I really won’t be staying that long.”

Mycroft looked down, nonplussed.

“John, Sherlock's more trouble than you could imagine. I would hate to see things end badly or for either of you to end up hurt. Whatever you think you understand, he isn’t the omega for you.”

“Are you telling me that I am not good enough for your brother?”

“I’m saying that a healthy alpha like you should find an omega and settle down, have a house full of little Watson’s scampering about. It was only your shoulder that was damaged, after all. Not the rest of you.”

John gave a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Not everyone needs a brood, Mycroft. And whether I want to have children is far outside your business.”

“You’re seeing my brother. That makes it my business. Sherlock... he's confused. He never quite came to terms with finding out he was an omega and I am simply looking out for-”

“No.” John said simply. “It isn’t Sherlock who is confused. And having a brother who can’t understand him does a lot more damage than you can expect from me. I love your brother. And the particulars of that are absolutely no one’s business but ours. I’ll see myself out.” 

And with that, John made a sharp turn and walked out the door, leaving Mycroft gaping behind him.  
\---

Sherlock wasn’t home. Probably for the best with his state of mind, he might have stripped off, lay himself down on the living room floor and asked Sherlock to shag him senseless just to prove the point that it was indeed all fine with him. As it was, perhaps he finally had a moment to do a bit of experimenting on his own. Between cases and work, there hadn’t been all that much down time lately and what there had been, he had spent with Sherlock. 

He sent off a text _Long day. Headed to bed. Sorry. -JW_

_Boring case. No more than a three. Shouldn’t have left the house. -SH_

And after a moment, _Rest well.- SH_

John hummed to himself as he walked upstairs. He got undressed and carefully pulled a bag from beneath his bed. It didn’t look like Sherlock had disturbed anything, so this was still a surprise for now. Unless he had deduced it somehow. Who knew with Sherlock?

John settled back on the bed and popped the top on the bottle of lube. He thought of Sherlock and hoped this went as planned.  
\---

It was the following week that John walked in after a long day at the surgery and discovered Sherlock on the couch, staring at the silicone cock, which had been placed, _displayed_ , on the coffee table.

“John?” 

John blushed fiercely, but didn’t duck his head. Yes, he had bought a toy. 

It wasn’t like he needed to get used to an alpha cock, at least. That was something. Though it had made it slightly harder to shop for. 

And now Sherlock had found it. It took John straight back to his unease in the shop…  
\---

One day after work, he stopped in one of those shops. You know the kind. Bad lighting, worse music. Glossy photos of men and women drenched with desire.

It wasn’t the first time John had been in such a shop. Sure there was the titillation of it when he first came of age. A couple of buddies dragging him to find some mags and snickering at the rubber sleeves shaped like lips, fannies and arses.

He hadn’t given much thought to the wall of false cocks other than the natural pondering on how he might measure up. No problems there.

Glancing about now, he didn’t see anything that looked at all like what he wanted. Plenty of items for helping omegas through their heat. Alpha pricks anywhere from somewhat smaller than his own to clear fantasy proportions. Nowhere did he see just a reasonably sized prick like an omega or beta might have. Surely there were betas who wanted to masturbate. Omegas who missed the size queen gene. 

_Other alphas who were about to let someone bugger them._

How crimson was he turning as he tried to avoid asking for help?

And when exactly had he become 16 again? Blushing for Christ’s sakes!

Shit.

An enthusiastic sales woman approached. “Can I help you?”

“Um, perhaps. I notice that all of these are distinctly alphas-”

“Oh yes. This one has an inflatable knot, so you can actually feel the swelling. Oh, and this model can be squeezed just so and it will cum. The cum lubricant is sold separately, of course. But, if you buy both today I can-”

“Ah, actually, I’m looking for something a bit different,” John managed.

“Oh, we get all kinds here. I try not to assume. Nothing to worry about. What can I find for you?” She was so earnest and professional and not at all what he was expecting, he almost laughed, but it did actually make him relax long enough to explain.

“Oh, we just don’t get much call for those in this area. Not quite sure why. Our sister store can hardly stock enough. But, I would be happy to bring you a selection.” 

As she bustled into the back, John looked around nervously, but honestly the other customers seemed intent on making their own selections.

She had returned with a stack of boxes, holding cocks of more diminutive proportions. Four different sizes and a rainbow of colors.

He chose the one he thought might approximate Sherlock, but he really only had the one time to know that and, well, he had been a little overwhelmed. He hoped it was somewhat near accurate. And anyway, all he needed to do was get used to the sensation, right?

He grabbed some lube and made his purchase, hoping for the best. 

\---  
John looked at Sherlock, near panic, though he couldn’t quite say why. His experimenting had gone well. Remarkably well, in fact. As a doctor, he certainly understood that prostate stimulation could be fun, but there was something about the forbidden, the idea that he really _shouldn’t_ be enjoying this that was rather exciting on its own. Whatever taboo charge it had that was making him, a full grown alpha, blush. 

Looking from Sherlock to the toy, John’s words tumbled out in a rush, “You explained that you are really are mostly alpha, so eventually I figured you’d want… well, I needed to know if I could…” John looked down. Why did talking about this have to be so hard? “If I was going to react badly to penetration, I wanted to find out separate from us. Not in the midst of the first time you trusted anyone enough to bring it up. And it would have to come up eventually, right? So a bit of experimenting seemed like the thing to do. I know you don’t put much stock in emotional attachment or sentiment, but feelings can be more raw when coupled with being physically intimate, and most people find sex opens up a certain amount of vulnerability. So I wanted to make sure I could manage it, maybe even enjoy it. Before _I_ brought it up.”

Sherlock glanced up at him. “And can you?” he asked, his voice somehow making John think of velvet and thunder and fine scotch.

The color rising in John’s cheeks and his slight adjustment of trousers were answer enough, but he had to voice it. He licked his lips and swallowed hard before answering. “Yes,” adding “I want to,” as he leaned in, his lips a hairsbreadth away from Sherlock’s and his voice barely more than a whisper.

“We’d still need you to be on your pheromone blockers. If I smell omega while we’re trying, I imagine I would fight it. Not that you would necessarily feel like trying in that state, anyway.”

Sherlock smirked as though a war for dominance might be fun. _Oh God, this was going to get dangerous._

But when Sherlock spoke it was only to say, “Well, I am certainly still on them now.”

John’s eyes were wide, frozen somewhere between arousal and trepidation. But if the state of his cock had anything to do with it, arousal was definitely winning.

 _Just let it happen,_ he admonished himself. His heart was pounding. Seriously this whole thing had him feeling like a teenager, longing and uncertain. 

But as Sherlock kissed him, and his deft fingers unbuttoned their trousers, lust overcame John’s lingering doubts.

“Bedroom?” he asked.

Sherlock kissed him deeply again before taking his arm and leading him to his bedroom. It was closer, after all. John saw that his bottle of lube was already on the bedside table. He had clearly been hoping for John’s reaction. 

John pulled off his jumper and vest, letting out a shaky breath. “How should we...?”

Sherlock looked him over. There was something hungry in that gaze, but concerned, too. “If you aren’t ready for this, we don’t have to.”

“No. I just didn’t know we would get here so fast.” He kissed Sherlock again. “It’s fine.” Guiding Sherlock’s hand to his cock, he whispered, “Really. More than fine.”  
\---

That afternoon, Sherlock had gone exploring. He hadn’t meant to. Not really. In fact all he had gone to John’s room for was to carry up a medical journal that had been in the way of his experiment. Sure, he could have just set it in the living room, but he didn’t want it getting mixed in with the cold case files he had started spreading out. Though not one had caught his attention just yet. He walked over to set it on John’s bedside table, but as he did, Sherlock’s foot nudged something.

Sherlock paused. There, just under the bed… could it be?

It was far too much to hope for. That John might actually want… that John might have thought of him while…

_When had he purchased that?_

Thoughts of John fingering his arse until he was able to take the toy. Sliding this cock inside, moaning Sherlock’s name. The idea was positively delicious and Sherlock palmed his hardening prick. It was hard to keep from imagining it, but really, did he have to? It wasn’t like they were just flatmates any longer. 

Sherlock lay down on the bed, burying his face in the pillows that smelled of John. It would be another hour or more before John was home from the surgery. Plenty of time to indulge himself. 

Sherlock slipped his pyjamas down, his cock springing free. He found the bottle of lube by the bedside, slicking his hand and beginning to work down his length, keeping his fist tight, imagining John just beginning to open for him. Would he fight? Would he groan and spread his legs wider? Sherlock throbbed with desire as he tried to picture it, thrusting up into his fist.  
\---

Sherlock stroked John through his pants, kissing him until he felt John relax in his arms. Guiding him over to the bed, Sherlock lay down beside him, letting his hands explore. They hadn’t done enough of this, neither wanting to push the other. Sherlock slid down, mouthing John’s cock through the thin cotton material before sliding his pants off. He glanced up at John and their eyes locked for a moment as Sherlock licked his lips. He dipped his head, swirling his tongue around the glans.

He licked up the shaft noting with some satisfaction that he couldn’t even wrap his hand all the way around John. Still, he responded beautifully when Sherlock tried. Sherlock took as much of John’s cock into his mouth as he could manage, working his hand over the rest of the shaft. It took a few moments to get the rhythm, but soon his motions were in sync, hand and mouth moving together as John moaned and panted. 

“Sherlock,” John called out, tugging gently at his curls. “Sherlock!” John cried out more insistently. “Please, love. You are incredible, but I want… I don’t want to come until you are inside me.”

Sherlock gazed up in awe. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. Please, Sherlock. Now.”

Sherlock smiled wickedly. “A little preparation is still in order.”

He grabbed the bottle of lube and slicked his fingers, working one gently into John’s arse. He gasped, first at the tightness, the heat of John wrapped around him. He could feel John tense, and his fists were clenching at the bedsheets. But then, taking a deep breath, John begin to yield. 

He had barely worked in two fingers when John began clawing at his shoulder. “I need you... like this. You can, please.”

Sherlock withdrew his fingers and lined up his cock with John’s hole. He poured a bit more lube into his hand before stroking himself. If his research had led him to understand anything, it was that there could never be too much lubrication when working with genders and orifices that didn’t produce their own. He pressed forward, sliding the head of his cock into John. The sensation was nearly overwhelming. The same tightness and heat that his fingers had explored, but differently intimate. Even more amazing coupled with his knowledge of what it was like to be penetrated. 

He rocked his hips forward gently, minding that John was not exactly made for this, not in the same way. His instincts, his desires to thrust, take, ravage, were mitigated by the need to keep John safe, to make sure he enjoyed himself as well. He stroked his hand down John’s chest as he began to move, rocking his hips in slow circles. 

He noted the particular spot that made John groan beneath him and angled his thrusts that way. “Oh, Christ. Sherlock, Yes. God. Right there.”

He leaned over him. Kissing John as he thrust harder, his rhythm becoming more erratic. 

That John was here with him, beneath him like this. That John was breathless, panting with pleasure, moaning into his mouth. It was all too much. 

Sherlock wrapped his fist around the base of John’s cock, feeling the knot swell beneath his hand. When Sherlock’s orgasm hit, his hand pulsed around John in time with the throbbing of his cock. John cried out, spilling between them, sticky fluid coating their stomachs, tiny rivulets trailing down to stain the sheets below.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock woke sprawled over and around John. They needed a shower and Sherlock was pretty sure John’s arm would be asleep, but he just couldn’t bring himself to move.

They had barely cleaned up before drifting off to sleep together. Skipped dinner entirely. Not that Sherlock cared, but John would be ravenous. After a few minutes, Sherlock contemplated getting up and making breakfast. He had started to sit up when he realized. He had to be there when John woke up. He wasn’t the most suited for relationship advice, but Sherlock was fairly certain that running off after sex twice in a row would fall in John’s category of ‘not good’. Honestly, he would be delighted if he never saw that kind of hurt and confusion on John’s face again. 

And John had been thoughtful enough to experiment before they attempted this. Sherlock felt certain that had been in partly due to that overwhelming first experience. How had he possibly found this man? Some sentimental drivel about soul mates tried to push itself into his thoughts, but thankfully, just then John woke up and distracted him.  
\---

After a shower, which may have involved as much stroking as it had cleaning, they threw on dressing gowns and Sherlock sat down at his laptop while John made tea. He threw in some toast and started a fry up for good measure, suddenly starving. 

John came up behind Sherlock, kissing his unruly curls as he set down a mug of tea and a plate of toast with a bit of eggs. While he might not touch breakfast, it was worth the possibility. John had learned that if it was there he sometimes absently ate it while he checked through email. Glancing at the message on screen, John was intrigued as Sherlock seemed to be. An original poem, which contained a murder confession and a series of clues. It seemed to suggest that they should find the bodies and then find him, or her, but the balance of probability suggested the murderer would be male.

__

Beneath the silver moon a path emerged  
The rivulets all twisting, twining, green  
They led me to the sea where streams all merged  
I chased them down, these rivers all unclean  
their waters, far from pure, with poisons swirled  
and creatures with sharp teeth there lie in wait  
And soon they would devour all the world  
if no one would stand forth and change their fate  
With readied knife the sacrifice prepare  
I shed the blood of those who will be missed  
A golden girl, a treasure without care.  
Her husband was not ever on my list  
But offered up his life for hers in trade  
The double sacrifice most pleasing, not denied  
More perfect and more beautifully made  
Their deaths so swift they had not even cried  
Then guided by the angels, I escape.  
And now the loathsome shark that runs this show  
May find himself in grief with mouth agape  
the river red that from these offerings flow  
will show him all the error of his ways  
and while my kin will never be returned  
I may make him regret it all his days  
The past destroyed, and with bright vengeance burned  
by this oath I’m well and truly bound  
Though prison cell will doubtless be my fate,  
The puzzle solved and bodies you have found  
Till nightfall, underneath the oak, I’ll wait.  
But if tonight has come and gone, I’m free  
Another death, another note and plea.

Sherlock texted Lestrade. Police techs began tracing the IP address, but it turned out that the message was sent from an internet cafe. Still, while Sherlock worked on the puzzle itself, someone was dispatched to see if they could interview the cafe worker and see if there was any CCTV footage near enough or if the cafe itself might have security cameras. 

Sherlock was stumped at first, mumbling to himself as he sorted through the facts. “There isn’t that much to go on, but it will have to be enough. The nightfall deadline is clearly today, but…” he consulted his phone, “it’s the dark moon. So were they killed earlier in the month? No, why would he wait?”

“He wouldn’t,” John added, “Certainly not someone with the inclination to get caught before they kill again. And if he didn’t want that, he wouldn’t send the message to you.”

There wasn’t any local graffiti that incorporated a moon that Sherlock knew of, but he might ask Billy.

Billy was no help. In fact, neither were the first five of the contacts in his homeless network.  
John was going to suggest that they try a different tack when Sherlock got a lead. 

A tall man with vivid green eyes, a sharp contrast to his mahogany skin. He was quiet and younger than many of them. 

“Any major dealers, or trafficking? Anything unusual that involves a crescent?” Sherlock inquired.

“Selene Shipping. Big warehouse two blocks over. They have a crescent moon on the sign and on their trucks. They are supposed to be a shipping company, but they do a lot more than that. I’ve seen people coming and going at all hours. Sometimes late at night, girls being carried in who don’t look like it is their idea to be there, if you understand.” 

Sherlock thanked him and gave him some cash for his time and help. While Sherlock could be abrasive with many, he was always kind to his network. Even managed to call them by name, which was more than many people got.

It hardly took any observation at Selene Shipping to gather that a major crime ring was centered there. And shorter than that to determine that the owner had one daughter who was recently married and lived nearby in a house her father purchased as a wedding present. Sherlock texted Lestrade on their way there.

The door was ajar. Right in the living room lay a tall brunette who might have been beautiful before her throat was slit. Now she merely looked dead, the blood loss giving her skin a disturbing pallor in contrast with the deep red staining the carpet around the bodies. Beside her, a man just slightly taller with sandy brown hair. 

“Clearly her husband, as the poem said,” Sherlock noted, muttering “Matching rings” in explanation.

With the times of death it was clear that the message had to have been sent after the victims were already laying in their living room, blood pooling into the carpet. There was nothing Sherlock could have done to save them, no matter how quickly he had worked it out. 

As Sherlock was examining the bodies they heard it. A rustling of fabric, a snuffling and then a cry. A cry that turned into a wail. Sherlock looked utterly panicked. John drew his gun in case the intruder was still in the house and followed the infant’s cries. When he reached the bedroom, he found the baby laying in a portable cot all alone. John tucked the gun back into the waistband of his jeans and picked up the little one, shushing and rocking as he looked around. Nearby there was a bag with nappies and other useful items. 

“You need a change and then let’s see if we can find a bottle.”

Sherlock had followed and stood transfixed at John, who changed the nappy efficiently and proceeded to pace up and down the length of the bedroom, bouncing the baby in that rhythmic walk that parents seemed to instantly perfect. 

Answering the unformulated question, John said, “Harry and I babysat our cousins and some neighbors when they were young. Well, I babysat. Harry invited her girlfriend over to watch telly and raid their liquor cabinet. You solve the murder and I,” he glanced down at the now cozy child in his arms, “I will take care of this little bundle of mystery.” 

John set off towards the kitchen and found the formula and bottles.

Sherlock tore himself away from the sight of John with the child. John singing a gaelic lullaby as he prepared to feed the tiny creature. John looking for all the world like a proud father. _Oh for godssakes._

Sherlock went and paced the living room, carefully sidestepping the bodies. _Far less distracting._ He shut everything else out and searched his memory, and his phone, for oak names in streets, parks, businesses. 

“Oh! Of course.” He shouted, a few minutes later, running back to the bedroom. "The Oak, John. We need to get to Southgate.”

“Brilliant!” 

He was right. It would have to be Minchenden Oak, in Southgate. The largest oak tree in England, and perhaps 800 years old. John had been to see it as a kid. It was overwhelming. 

“Just as soon as they get here to take care of this one. I imagine you don’t want to haul him off with us to capture the M-U-R-D-E-R-E-R”

“John have you lost your mind? Why are you spelling it out? Even if you say murderer, it isn’t as though he knows what that means. It is beyond his cognitive functioning and life experience. He isn’t going to be traumatised by words.”

“It’s just… nevermind. You’ll only delete dealing with children again. If you ever had that information. I won’t waste your time.”

John walked away, humming again, an English song this time. Not strictly a lullaby, but the tune was soothing, nonetheless. Sherlock recalled a few strains of that from his own childhood. _Early in the morning just as the sun was rising I heard a young maid singing in the valley below…_

It wasn’t long before Lestrade’s team arrived.

“Good thing you were here. Who knows how the little one would have fared if you hadn’t found him. Poor little guy.”

“Michael,” Sherlock corrected.

“What?” John and Greg said in unison, both incredulous.

“Michael. ‘Pick up Michael’ is written on the calendar for Friday, along with numerous notes for his care. Sunday says that Sylvia and George will pick Michael up at 3. It should be easy enough to go through the victim’s address book and locate the parents.” 

John whispered, “It was nice to meet you, Michael,” and lay a hand gently on his little head for a moment as he passed him off to Greg before turning to go.

They heard Lestrade shout out to one of his team, “Jeffries, follow behind their cab. They may have a lead on who did this and I want you to bring him in.”

A middle aged man with thinning brown hair followed them out, as directed. He was new to this team and seemed keen enough. A bit podgy round the middle, but it didn’t seem like they’d have a chase with this one down, though who knew. The criminal might surprise them. Then again, so might Jefferies. It had certainly been a while since John had the physique of his rugby days, but he could still give chase.

\---  
They didn’t talk much on the way to Southgate. Sherlock seemed completely absorbed, likely reviewing the poem and going over the details of the case.

John felt relieved that they already had a way to find where Michael belonged. It was so sad when children were mixed up in these things and he was glad to have been there to help. He smiled to himself, stifling a laugh. It isn’t as if Sherlock would have been much help. He looked at the baby like it was a rabid beast. Seemed for the best that he didn’t want kids, with their mad adventures and crazy experiments. 

When the arrived, Sherlock dashed from the car, John trailing after. A minute was all it took for Sherlock to deduce that no one present beneath the tree was the criminal they sought. 

“The sun is setting. Twilight isn’t likely long enough to seek out another location. What did I miss? 

“Sherlock,” John said.

Sherlock tried to wave him off. “Yes, I know, brilliant. No one else could do it anyway. Let me think!”

“The crescent wasn’t the moon. What if the tree isn’t a tree?”

“Of course. The area is known for it.” Sherlock forgot himself for a moment and kissed John. As they pulled back from it, he cleared his throat scanning the local shops. ”Over here!” He broke into a run, great coat flaring behind him. Then John saw it too, a tavern with an oak insignia. 

They walked in with Jefferies just behind them.

Sitting at the table against the far wall was a man, remarkable only for the few drops of blood that clung to the brown overcoat draped over his seat. He glanced up as they walked in. His eyes widened slightly, more in surprise than fear. He downed the last of his pint and held his wrists out palms open in surrender. 

“There’s your man. I am sure he will provide you with ample evidence and a confession.”

Sure enough, a quick search of his coat revealed the murder weapon, as well as a list. 

“What do you make of this. A hit list?” Jeffries said, handing the paper over.

Twelve potential victims. Only the daughter they had found that afternoon was crossed off. 

“I am sure you will find that the other people on this list are all family members of participants in the crime ring our victim’s father runs. Perhaps with this list you can even find enough evidence to convict some of the key players.”

“Thank you,” the man said, smiling sadly at Sherlock. Whether his gratitude was at being caught quickly or the peace of mind that he might actually have done some good in all of this, it was hard to say.

“We’ll be in for the paperwork in the morning.”

Jeffries nodded as if that was par for the course. “Just text Lestrade, would you?”

“Of course.” Sherlock said with a curt nod. 

They watched as the man was led away.

“Dinner?”

John glanced around. “As long as you don’t deduce there are any more criminals hiding out here.”

They laughed and Sherlock assured him that they were quite safe from the embezzler in the corner.

Waiting for their order, a pensive look had come over Sherlock. After a moment he remarked lightly, “You seemed so natural with little Michael there.”

“Well, as I said, plenty of practice.” 

Sherlock looked down studying the old wooden table top as though the scratches made up a fascinating crime scene.

“I imagine you thought it was good practice, growing up. Some people might have scoffed at an alpha babysitting, but you wanted to do it. So you could be involved in ways your father wasn’t.” 

“You were acting a bit squirrely there with him. I figured you were just distracted. Wanted to solve the case. But that is what this was about?”

“If you want children you should-”

“Sherlock, yeah, when I was young, maybe. But I always liked the idea of the bonding more than kids. Sure, if my bondmate wanted children, how would I deny that? But if you don’t, I certainly don’t mind.” 

Bondmate. Had John meant that to infer that they were… should be… that he wanted…?

Sherlock huffed out a sigh of relief even as his brow furrowed. “John, are you saying…”

John gave him space, trying to see if he would continue. After nearly a minute, he prompted, “Sherlock?”

“Are you suggesting that we bond?”

John looked down and cleared his throat. “If you aren’t ready, I understand. We don’t even have to discuss...“

“I’ve never been with anyone else.” Sherlock blurted out.

John’s face fell for a moment, disappointed, before he offered, “Oh. Well, if you wanted comparison, to figure out what you want, I’m sure you could… most people do that a bit earlier on. I should have guessed you’d need-”

“No, John! I meant I’ve never wanted anyone else.”

John met his eyes as Sherlock continued, ”It’s… it’s just you.”

Awe suffused John’s features. Sherlock would be willing? He wasn’t even sure Sherlock would catch that he was thinking of him that way already. A little slip in speech seemed to ask what he hadn’t been able to. Just like so much between them. It all fell into place.


End file.
